


Weakness

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Accidental Voyeurism, Age Difference, Cockblocking, Exhibitionism, Feminization, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Older Man/Younger Man, Rejection, Underage Kissing, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, arthur the perpetual cockblocker, this is just john being young and dumb and gay lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-12-17 01:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: Arthur’s standing next to the bar when he spots John and it feels like déjà vu.John’s in a dark booth in a corner of the lounge and Arthur can barely see his face but he’s seen that mop of dark hair and that slender neck and those scarred, scrawny arms for so many days of so many years he just knows, that’s his boy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay so john is 16 when he kisses arthur and arthur immediately is like hey wait a fuckin second  
he's 18 after "two years pass uneventful" and 19 after "a year later" and nothing but conversation about sex and being queer happens between him and arthur after the rejected kiss and before john's 19  
john does mess around with an older man when he's 19 in a semi-public way and arthur watches

It would be a fair accusation to call John Arthur’s weakness.

Arthur looks down at the kid next to him.

John’s past tipsy, slumped against Arthur’s leg, mumbling along with the rest of the gang’s singing and Arthur can’t bring himself to be too bothered.

The kid’s like a shadow to him lately, constantly wanting to join him on jobs, be paired with him for hunts, ask him every question under the sun, and Arthur honest-to-god loves it.

It makes him feel special, in a stupid way.

The night drags on and gradually the camp members retire, leaving Arthur with John leaning on his leg.

Arthur gently raps his knuckles on the crown of John’s head and the younger makes a small sound of protest before tilting his head back, looking up at Arthur.

“You oughta turn in,” Arthur says.

“You gonna?” John asks quietly, voice scratchier than normal.

“This ain’t about me,” Arthur mutters and nudges John with the toe of his boot.

John watches him hazily before glancing around them, seemingly just noticing they’re alone.

“But I wanna stay with you.”

“... Why?”

John frowns up at him then leans his head on Arthur’s thigh.

He looks tired, and like he’s trying to fight that tiredness.

“C’mon, John,” Arthur says gently and lifts John to his feet as he stands, “You need sleep.”

-

“That boy worships you, Arthur,” Miss Grimshaw tuts quietly, handing over a bruise salve, “You oughta set a better example.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Arthur mutters and tucks tail for his tent, rubbing at the edge of the bruise high on his cheekbone.

John’s sitting on the older man’s cot when Arthur ducks in.

“You alright?” John asks after a moment of silence passes between them.

Arthur sighs and moves closer, opening the jar and leaning down to peer at himself in his shaving mirror as he smears the salve on his cheek.

When he turns around John’s standing close, fidgeting with Arthur’s hat in his hands.

Arthur had thought he’d lost it in the fight.

John looks up at him, almost _shy,_ and Arthur’s brows furrow.

John steps closer, hardly a hand’s width between their chests, then leans up and presses his lips to Arthur’s.

Arthur feels frozen, shock and confusion ricocheting through his brain.

He lifts his clean hand to catch John’s jaw, pulling back while holding the younger still.

“... What the hell?” Arthur mutters, studying the younger man’s face.

John’s eyes slowly open, dark and wide.

Scared.

Arthur steps back, keeping a firm hold on John’s chin.

“You mind explainin’ that?” Arthur asks lowly.

“I…” John rasps, expression growing frantic as he lowers his gaze, staring at Arthur’s chest.

“Think you’re takin’ this ‘hero worship’ a lil’ too far, John,” Arthur mutters and lets go.

John shoves the hat into Arthur’s hand and near runs out of the tent.

Arthur takes a moment to respond, then tosses his hat on the cot, bringing his hand up to rub roughly at his lips.

-

John avoids him for nearly a week and it’s fine, Arthur’d be embarrassed too if he got confused like that, made such a silly mistake like that.

He still doesn’t understand what the _hell_ John was thinking.

And he might not until the kid decides to explain himself.

-

“Arthur,” John whispers as he shuffles up behind the older man on the river bank.

“John,” Arthur says and casts out his freshly-baited hook.

“I’d rather you just get it over with,” John mutters, “Stead of drawin’ it out like this.”

“What?”

“Dutch is already annoyed with me after I let that guard slip last month,” John rubs at his forehead and shoves back his long hair, “If you tell him now, it’ll be over for me.”

“Tell him what?” Arthur frowns over at the younger, “What’ll be over?”

“That I’m a pervert, or a queer,” John says slowly, “Or whatever else you wanna call me.”

“Why would I tell Dutch that?”

“Because I kissed you?”

“Shh,” Arthur hisses, taking a step closer, “You made a mistake. Forget it.”

John frowns back at him.

“I didn’t make a mistake, Arthur, I knew full well what I was doin’.”

“Nah,” Arthur says dismissively and turns back to the river, “You didn’t. You _don’t._ You’re still young.”

“I’m old ‘nough,” John says bitterly.

“You really ain’t,” Arthur yanks the strap for the creel over his head and shoves it into John’s arms, “Go back to camp.”

John ducks his head and turns to head back, but Arthur catches the look of hurt in his eyes.

-

Two years pass, uneventful.

Then they’re all having some downtime in a saloon and Arthur’s heart skips when he spots John in a dark corner with a young man of similar age.

He looks for Dutch, first, but their leader is occupied with Hosea.

Arthur crosses the saloon quickly and grabs John by the back of his collar, pulling him away.

John looks up at him wide-eyed, the closure of his trousers spread open from where the other young man had been jerking him off.

Arthur aims a withering glare at both young men then tugs John through the back of the saloon, into the alley.

John stumbles over the threshold and stares at Arthur when his back hits the wall.

“John, what the _hell?”_ Arthur asks lowly, “You lost all sense suddenly?”

“No one could see us,” John mutters.

“Oh _really?”_ Arthur steps closer, “Then how’d I see you?”

John blinks up at him.

“Look at you, for Christ’s sake, John,” Arthur mutters, “Have some shame.”

John’s cheeks are a steady pink, he looks down between them at his open drawers.

“You used to do shit like that,” John says quietly, “Dutch teases you ‘bout it every once in a while.”

“With women,” Arthur says pointedly, “And never with their hand in my trousers, John. Jesus.”

John’s flush darkens and he reaches down to hastily do up his drawers and trousers.

“If you’re gonna go down this route…” Arthur sighs and steps back, “Just do it in private.”

John nods stiffly, avoiding his eyes, and darts back into the saloon.

-

John always looks bitter when other members of the gang are talking about their last lay or lost loves.

Dutch is going on about some jaw-dropping woman he seduced before the formation of the gang and John slinks away from the campfire, heading into the forest.

Arthur waits a half-hour, and when John hasn’t returned, he makes his excuses and follows.

-

He finds John laying back on a felled log.

“Go away, Arthur,” John mutters without opening his eyes.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“You’re the only one who cares,” John sighs and looks up at him, “What?”

“You always get so pissy when the fellas are talkin’ ’bout women.”

“Why do you care?”

“Does it matter?” Arthur asks, annoyance filtering into his voice, “Like you said, I’m the only one _who_ cares.”

John stares up at him, eyes narrowed, then looks away.

“Hard to do anythin’ in private when your home is a tent surrounded by nosy outlaws,” John mutters.

“You know the rules about bringin’ back outsiders,” Arthur says and leans back against a nearby tree.

“Not just talkin’ about bringin’ back a fella.”

“... Oh,” Arthur scratches at his chin slowly, “Go on a huntin’ trip or somethin’.”

“Me, Arthur?” John laughs quietly, “‘Oh, yeah, Dutch, I’m just headin’ out on a _hunt.’”_

Arthur grimaces and nudges at the pine needles with the toe of his boot.

“Come with me, then,” Arthur offers, almost immediately regretting it when John’s eyes snap to him, “Not_ like that.”_

“But as an excuse?”

“Yeah.”

-

“You can split off whenever, y’know?”

John glances at him from under the brim of his hat before looking back at the trail.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“I just…” John’s nose wrinkles and he shifts in his saddle, “Don’t normally camp alone.”

“... Are you _scared?”_

“No!” John protests sharply, glaring at the older man, “I’m just sayin’!”

-

John doesn’t split off, and they make camp together on a secluded ridge overlooking a narrow valley.

“John,” Arthur says as he settles down on his bedroll.

“Forget it,” John bites back.

“So, this trip’s for nothin’?”

“We… We can still go huntin’,” John says quietly, turning to face away from the older man on his bedroll, “Sorry.”

“Jesus,” Arthur mutters, “Just learn to be quiet.”

“It’s not…” John huffs and flips over so he can squint at the older man, “There’s a difference between someone walkin’ in on you jerkin’ off and someone walkin’ in on you fuckin’ yourself, y’know?”

Arthur stares at him in surprise.

“... ‘Fuckin’ yourself’?” Arthur asks hoarsely.

“Just… Fingers,” John mutters, “But it’s still risky.”

“And that’s what you were gonna go do after we split up?”

“Yeah… No,” John rubs at his eyes tiredly, _“No._ Hell, I’m too chicken to do it in my own tent any more, I ain’t sure why I thought I’d be able to do it alone in the middle o’ nowhere.”

“You don’t wanna be alone?”

“I ain’t _scared,_ but I don’t like it,” John says quietly, “Should be obvious to _you.”_

“Hm.”

“Just… Goodnight,” John says shortly.

“Yeah, night.”

-

They bring back a pair of turkeys and don’t talk about it for another month.

“So, do you only get off like _that?”_ Arthur asks quietly as John’s sitting on the ground in the older man’s tent, helping Arthur clean some of the gang’s guns.

“... No, but,” John goes silent for a few seconds and Arthur sees the younger man shiver, “It’s different. _Better.”_

“Hm.”

“It’s a more… It feels bigger, y’know? Like it’s more… Significant or somethin’.”

“Does it feel like… Like havin’ a man take you?” Arthur asks hesitantly.

“I dunno,” John shrugs.

“You ain’t done that?”

“No, not all the way,” John says, then lowers his gaze to the pistol in his hands, “... Have you ever?”

“Ever what?”

“Done anythin’ with a man?”

“... Yes.”

“‘Yes’?” John asks sharply, looking up quickly, _“What?”_

Arthur sniffs and shifts on the cot, re-focusing on the rifle in his lap.

_“Arthur?”_

“John, that ain’t a polite question.”

“Oh, like any of this is polite?” John scoffs and sets the re-assembled pistol to the side, frowning up at Arthur, “You made it seem like bein’ into fellas was a bad thing.”

“When did I do that?”

“Oh, I dunno, the _dozens_ of times you scolded me or warned me off of flirtin’ or messin’ around in town.”

“That’s ‘cause you were in _public,_ John,” Arthur sighs and levels the younger man with a frown, “You were bein’ risky.”  
  
John narrows his eyes, studying Arthur.

“I don’t have an inch in judgin’ your choices, John,” Arthur says quietly, “I just want you to be _careful.”_

-

A year later they’re staying in a hotel to keep up appearances of the roles they’re playing as visiting land developers.

Arthur’s standing next to the bar when he spots John and it feels like déjà vu.

John’s in a dark booth in a corner of the lounge and Arthur can barely see his face but he’s seen that mop of dark hair and that slender neck and those scarred, scrawny arms for so many days of so many years he just _knows,_ that’s his boy.

He swallows thickly and slowly looks around the room, but no one else seems to be even looking in that direction.

He sees a weathered hand slide up John’s arm and squeeze.

John shifts and his face is more clear in the lantern light and his lips are parted, eyes closed, cheeks darkly flushed.

Arthur wishes he could see the rest of them, see what’s making John look like _that._

Who.

Arthur can tell whoever John is with is older, larger, by his hands.

Maybe even older than himself.

It twists in his stomach uncomfortably.

He remembers being John’s age, a little more slender, more fresh-faced.

Remembers the way some men looked at him, how he liked the thrill of it sometimes, but learned eventually that there are men who want to fuck you, and men you can trust.

And that those two things don’t often overlap.

Arthur sips on his whiskey and takes in the other patrons again, just to make sure no one is paying John and his… ‘Friend’, any mind.

They aren’t, so _he does._

John’s mouth suddenly closes.

Arthur sees the shine of teeth biting down on an already chewed-up lower lip as John’s eyes barely open.

He sees John nod jerkily, sees John shift, the hand on his arm moving down to his thigh.

Then John’s lips part again and his eyes shut tight, brows creasing, head tilting back slightly.

He sees John’s chest jerk and thinks the younger man might have made a sound.

A hand comes out of the shadows to cover John’s mouth.

Fingers shining wetly in the flickering light.

John’s eyes open, he looks pleading.

John shakes his head in response to something and the hands lifts off his mouth.

John is paying close attention to the other man, eyes moving slowly around the darkness.

He seems to hesitate, leaning back slightly and then slowly shaking his head again, looking down.

The hand on his thigh retreats into the darkness and John barely glances back up.

Nodding and then shifting something in his lap, rising from the corner and moving towards the stairs that lead to the guest rooms rather quickly, his gait uneven.

Arthur follows.

-

Arthur tests the handle then unlocks their room with his key, pushing open the door.

John’s laying on his back on the bed farther from the door, vest removed, tie hanging loose, splaying out on either side of his neck.

He’s staring at the ceiling, cheeks still dark pink.

An obvious bulge in his trousers.

Arthur closes the door and locks it behind himself.

John looks over at him, then looks back up at the ceiling.

“Did you see?” John asks hoarsely.

“... I saw _somethin’,”_ Arthur mutters and moves between the beds, sitting on the edge of his, facing John.

“Sorry,” John whispers.

“Well, ‘least you’ve learned to pick more hidden places,” Arthur says dryly, “Bet most couldn’t tell you from a lady in those shadows.”

John winces sharply, closing his eyes, fingers twitching on the bed on either side of himself, near curled into fists.

“... What?” Arthur asks quietly.

“... I don’t know,” John whispers, “That man just… Everythin’ was fine, at first, just… Normal, I suppose. Weren’t actin’ strange, seemed decent ‘nough.”

Arthur scoots back to kick off his boots then sits cross-legged on the mattress.

“He was… He was _playin’_ with me,” John says weakly, “And somethin’ changed. Started _talkin’_, wouldn’t shut up. Sayin’ all these things you’d say to a woman, and hell, I got off on it.”

“Why’d y’all stop?” Arthur asks, “You seemed to not agree on somethin’.”

John swallows loudly, fingers curling in the duvet.

“He got me real close. I mean it, Arthur, had damn _tears_ in my eyes I was so worked up. Then I couldn’t keep quiet, made a couple… Sounds. He didn’t like that, got anxious someone would hear. Asked me if I could stay quiet, and I weren’t sure, so I said no.”

“And he stopped ‘cause of that?” Arthur frowns, resting his jaw on his knuckles, elbow digging into his knee.

“He asked me if I wanted to continue in his room, where I could be louder,” John mutters, “Told me it’d just sound like he was just fuckin’ a whore, anyhow.”

Arthur makes a small sound of sympathy.

John squirms on the bed, turning over and fighting the covers so he can get under them.

He opens his eyes to look at Arthur, the moonlight streaming into their room bright enough to see comfortably.

Arthur shrugs weakly, wishing he had some advice, some words of encouragement.

-

That fall John gets sick.

Nothing seemingly too major, but he’s down for a couple days.

On the fourth day he joins Dutch on some errand only to come back silently fuming.

John hitches Old Boy then turns on his heel and heads straight for his tent, gait uneven.

Arthur doesn’t follow him, and instead slowly makes his way over to Dutch, who’s leaning on the table Hosea is reading at.

“Somethin’ happen?” Arthur asks, jerking his head back in the direction of John’s tent.

“He passed out, nearly killed himself on the way to the ground,” Dutch says mildly, “Do me a favor and see if you can get him to let you check him over. I tried, but he wouldn’t let me touch him.”

-

“Johnny?” Arthur leans against the main post of John’s tent, “You gon’ bite my head off if I come in?”

“No,” He hears John mutter.

Arthur lifts the flap and steps into the tent, gaze immediately landing on John sitting in his drawers on the edge of his cot.

“You alright?”

“I’m cold, then I’m hot, then I’m cold ‘gain n’ I’m gettin’ real tired of it,” John says roughly.

Arthur huffs a small laugh, only to raise his hands innocently when John glares at him.

“You ain’t sick ‘nough to hold a fever, at least, or else you’d be cold all the time,” Arthur says soothingly.

John just grumbles quietly, kicking at the grass with his bare toes.

“Dutch seems to think you got hurt earlier,” Arthur says and steps closer, “Did you?”

“He send you to come n’ mother hen me?”

“No,” Arthur says smoothly, “He sent me cause you’re the damn hen and I’m the only one you won’t peck to shreds.”

John watches him for a moment then sighs quietly.

“I’m fine,” John murmurs, squinting at his own leg as he points his toes and kicks it slowly, “I think. Landed on my leg a little funny.”

“Can I check?” Arthur asks quietly.

John shrugs.

Arthur takes the last few steps forward then crouches at John’s feet.

“Right?”

“Mm-hm.”

Arthur wraps his fingers around John’s right knee and shifts the limb until John’s heel is in his lap.

He gently pokes and pushes around the joint, but everything seems fine so he moves his hands down to John’s ankle and manipulates it, cradling the back of John’s calf in one hand while he controls John’s foot with the other.

It, too, seems fine.

“Does it hurt?” Arthur asks, brows furrowing lightly.

“Yeah,” John murmurs.

“Where?”

“My hip.”

Arthur frowns and stands up, dropping John’s leg.

“Turn that way,” Arthur gestures, “Scoot up then lay back.”

John squirms on the cot until he’s laying on his back, the crown of his head level with the top edge of the mattress.

Arthur kneels at the foot of the mattress and grabs the ankle of John’s right leg, nudging the younger man’s left leg further out.

He lifts up John’s ankle, bending the younger man’s knee, moving it side-to-side to make sure John’s hip joint isn’t catching funny.

He bends the knee further and pushes John’s leg down so it’s pressed against John’s abdomen, frowning.

“This doesn’t hurt?” He asks, looking up to John’s face.

John’s face is pink, his eyes a little wide as he stares up at Arthur.

Arthur knows he’s kneeling between John’s legs, he’d be a fool to not be aware of his position.

But he didn’t think John would be all that affected by it, being sick and injured.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

Arthur frowns down at him and leans more of his weight onto John’s leg until it’s flush, his chest grazing John’s shin.

“This hurt?”

John nods slowly, staring at Arthur’s face.

“How bad?”

“S’bearable,” John whispers.

“Worse than when it’s straight?”

John studies him for a minute then shakes his head.

“Alright,” Arthur says slowly and sits back, “Pro’ly just muscle then.”

John shifts and shivers.

Arthur feels the tremors through John’s ankle.

“Cold?” Arthur asks, “You want me to grab a blanket from the big trunk?”

“I’m not cold,” John whispers and looks away.

“But you just…” Arthur pauses, taking in the way John’s cheek is pulled in at the corner of his mouth, letting him know that John is biting the inside of his cheek.

Taking in the darkened blushing.

The averted gaze.

Arthur’s eyes flick down to John’s crotch as he crawls backward off the cot, letting go of John’s leg.

The younger man is hard.

Something like pride burns in Arthur’s chest, knowing his boy is so sensitive to his touch.

Arthur pauses in reaction to his own thoughts.

The mental stance of ownership, of _claim_ he feels over John.

“Maybe take a… Nap,” Arthur says slowly, trying to get John to meet his eyes, “Not many in camp for the next few hours. Oughta be nice and quiet.”

He sees John’s breathing stutter, chest barely jumping.

“I’ll make sure no one wakes you up. You could pro’ly get away with a little _snorin’_ even,” Arthur says, voice pitched a little lower, “Think you deserve it.”

John meets his gaze, searching, hopeful.

“You got somethin’ to put… On your ‘hip’?” Arthur asks quietly, his heart beating faster, “Somethin’... One of them salves?”

John nods shakily, lifting one hand to cover his mouth.

“Alright, well I’ll,” Arthur clears his throat roughly and lifts one of the tent flaps, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks,” John whispers hoarsely behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small consent issue towards the beginning of the chapter that's quickly resolved where arthur tries to initiate something while he's drunk and john's sober but he picks up on the tone and drops it apologetically   
i completely forgot i'd started a second chapter and then got a new comment and was like OH SHIT

John joins him by the fire just as the sun’s gone down under the horizon. 

He glances tentatively at Arthur then kneels on the ground next to the older man’s legs. 

Shifting his weight so he’s sitting on his good hip, not directly on his ass. 

His shoulder brushes Arthur’s knee and Arthur nudges John lightly. 

“Good nap?” Arthur asks quietly. 

They gang hasn’t quite congregated for supper, only a few of the ladies on the far side of the fire. 

John ducks his head and nudges Arthur in return. 

Nodding, just once. 

Arthur sucks on his teeth to hide his amusement over this suddenly demure John sitting at his feet. 

-

It pops up in his head when he and John are traveling behind the gang as they’re moving camp over state boundaries. 

He’s bought them each a jug of cider. 

A small pleasure. 

John’s barely touched his, but Arthur’s over half-through his own jug. 

“You gotten off lately?” Arthur asks casually. 

John blinks at the fire as he registers the question, slowly looking up at Arthur. 

“What?”

“Since that time you got hurt… You managed since?”

“I… No,” John says quietly, “Why?”

“Do you want to?”

John stares at him. 

“I mean,” Arthur shrugs, gestures to the woods around them, “‘Fore you wouldn’t do it ‘cause you didn’t wanna be alone.”

John’s dark gaze is flicking over Arthur’s face quickly, wide and searching. 

“You ain’t alone now.”

“Do you… Are you askin’ me to?” John asks quietly. 

Arthur wants to say yes, he wants to admit his attraction while inebriated so he can blame it on the alcohol if John doesn’t want him. 

Instead, he shrugs. 

“I don’t…” John whispers hoarsely, looking hesitantly at their surroundings. 

“You wanna pitch the tent?”

“Arthur-” John swallows thickly, ducking his head, “It’s fine.”

Arthur watches the younger man. 

John shifts to his knees on his bedroll, moving his hands to the laces on his trousers. 

He focuses on the feeling of the cord moving over his fingers instead of how fast his heart is beating. 

“Did you bring… Do you have somethin’?” John asks quietly, raspy voice catching. 

“Oh… Hm,” Arthur peels his eyes away from John to squint at their saddlebags, “No.”

John falters, sitting back on his heels. 

“What… What’d you want me to do?” John asks, not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes. 

Something twists in Arthur’s stomach at the tone the younger man is using and he looks back at John. 

“Do you want this, John?” Arthur asks seriously. 

John’s hands flex while subtly trembling, and Arthur just watches. 

“No,” John whispers after a minute, “Not like this.”

“Shit,” Arthur mutters, sits up straighter to look at John openly, “I wasn’t tryin’ to…”

John ducks his head further and gets to his feet. 

“I-I’ll be back,” John says quickly.

Then walks into the forest as Arthur watches, guilt swirling in his gut. 

-

He’s barely hanging on when John returns, and he holds out until the younger man is settled before falling asleep. 

-  
  
Arthur’s face burns when his memories come back to him the next morning. 

John’s already awake, heating up a small pot over the fire. 

“Mornin’,” John says slowly, studying Arthur cautiously. 

“... Mornin’,” Arthur says, swallows, clears his throat, “I’m… Sorry about-”

“Don’t,” John says quickly, making a rough, dismissive gesture with his hand, “It’s fine.”

Arthur presses his lips together, almost protesting before sighing, nodding. 

John stares him down for a moment then slowly lowers his focus back to shifting the coals under the pot.

Arthur quickly tucks tail into the woods to relieve himself, both physically and of the shame. 

-

They're almost caught up to the gang but all Arthur wants to do is steal John's nearly untouched jug of cider and try to drown himself. 

He nudges the spatchcocked rabbit away from the higher flames, glances up at John over the fire. 

"You ever been this far north?" Arthur asks quietly. 

"Don't think so."

"It's gon' get real cold, soon, your coat still fit?"

"Your old one?" John scoffs, "Doubt it'll ever be too small."

-

He can’t see John. 

And yeah, the lighting ain’t great in the little saloon, but he’s wandered the whole building and he can’t spy head or hide of the younger man. 

The night air is a cold slap in the face compared to the warmth inside. 

He fiddles with his matchbox as he walks a little further away from the rowdy patrons, most of the gang amongst them. 

The moon is just past full, still bright and high above the town, casting shadows almost blue in their darkness, contrasting the silver light.

He can see John.

Just the edge of the younger man’s face, that silver light curving around John’s cheekbone, the edge of his jaw. 

Arthur slowly comes to a stop, looks around, but there’s no one else on the streets. 

John’s pressed against the wall, and Arthur can tell he’s being held up, a good head higher than normal. 

John’s face turns more towards him, lips parted, eyes closed tight. 

Until they aren’t, and they’re looking right at Arthur. 

The older man freezes, feeling caught out, but John doesn’t look angry, the younger man’s head tilting back slightly. 

Arthur can barely make out everything from his neck down, the hands on John’s waist, the figure rutting against John. 

Arthur holds the younger man’s gaze, not sure he could tear his eyes away if he wanted to. 

John’s eyes flick back and forth, as Arthur watches the younger pant and writhe. 

John’s lips press together, expression turning desperate, practically begging Arthur. 

He’s not sure if he just imagined John’s whimper or if the sound carried from the alley.

The older man swallows hard, shifting his weight against the heat building in him. 

Glass shatters and Arthur turns sharply towards the saloon as a group of figures tumble out the doors. 

They’re all drunk, squabbling, now arguing over who’s at fault for them being ejected. 

Arthur glances quickly towards where John was and sees the younger man standing at the edge of the alley, the other man walking away, making an apologetic gesture, adjusting himself hurriedly in his pants. 

Arthur watches John cross his arms, letting his head fall back against the building with a thump Arthur can hear across the street. 

John’s chest expands and deflates with a deep sigh. 

Then he looks back over to Arthur. 

Lifts himself away from the wall, walking over. 

“You good?” Arthur asks once the younger man is close enough he doesn’t have to raise his voice. 

“Fine,” John mutters, hugging himself slightly, “Sorry.”

“... It’s not-“ Arthur pauses, licks his lips, shakes his head, “I was just lookin’ for you, didn’t see you leave.”

“Somethin’ happen?” John asks, lifting his gaze to Arthur’s, brows furrowing in concern. 

“Nah… Just… Just checkin’ on you,” Arthur says slowly. 

“He get scared off?” Arthur nods in the direction the man went. 

“Saw you, after the noise,” John says wryly, “The coward, he thought you were gonna skin me, didn’t care to get in the way.”

Arthur frowns slightly, about to protest, but John shakes his head. 

“Hosea got us rooms?” John asks, sounding tired. 

“You wanna head up?”

“Yeah.”

-

“Were you turnin’ in, when you saw us?” John asks as he slips out of his boots and gear. 

“Was thinkin’ ‘bout it, just wanted to know where you were first.”

John huffs quietly, amused. 

“Thanks,” John mutters. 

“Sorry.”

“S’fine… I’m gon’ head down to the baths.”

-

"Arthur?" John asks quietly, anxious, fiddling with something as they’re laying in bed. 

"Hm?"

"Do you still… Did you wanna watch?"

"Huh?"

"The other night, when you asked me 'bout gettin' off," John takes a deep breath and looks over at Arthur's, "Did you wanna watch?" 

"I…" Arthur shifts, his face warming, "You didn't wanna be alone, right?"

"Right."

“I could leave, for a bit, think you’d be fine in the room.”

“... You could.”

"John, I-" Arthur says hoarsely, "I just think it'd be stranger if I tried to ignore you."

John studies him for a minute then shifts, undoing the laces on his trousers. 

Arthur watches the shadows John's slender fingers make from the moonlight, stretching far behind the younger man. 

John shoves his trousers and drawers down, kicking them to the foot of the bed, sending them to join the shirt he’d discarded earlier. 

Glancing at Arthur, shy. 

"You… You got somethin'?" Arthur asks. 

John holds up the little tin he'd been fiddling with. 

"Picked it up when I got us more rollin' papers," John murmurs, moving his other hand to his cock, already hard.

Still hard. 

Arthur shifts one leg to conceal his hard-on with the covers. 

A thready noise slips from John, a thin sound that fights its way out of the younger man. 

John presses his lips together and squirms, propping himself up more, popping the tin open and digging his fingers in. 

He glances at Arthur, a little more shyness slipping into his expression. 

Arthur’s gaze is intense, but unjudging. 

John cups one hand under his balls and reaches further back with the other. 

Dragging his slicked up fingers around his hole, looking down at himself, tilting his hips to the side so he can prop himself up with his elbow, slipping the tip of his middle finger in. 

His lips part slightly as he slips the finger further in, eyes closing, chest hitching. 

Arthur shifts beside him and John peeks one eye open to look. 

Seeing Arthur’s hand on top of the covers, low over the older man’s stomach, clenched, white-knuckled. 

John curls his finger inside himself, squirms as he grazes his prostate, pressing back into the pillows and moaning softly. 

More at the idea of Arthur being so hot over watching him he’s having to restrain himself. 

Arthur breathes out shakily next to him and John slowly works in another finger, spreading his legs wider, turning a little more towards Arthur. 

John struggles to keep his eyes open, fighting his body to get the right angle, getting frustrated and shifting his hand behind himself, slightly lifting onto his knees, gripping the sheets with his other hand as he pushes his fingers in deeper from behind. 

“Nn,” John’s chin tucks to his chest as he twists his hand and moves his fingers, slow but firm, pressing in, rubbing, then dragging them back out. 

His cock jerks and he gasps weakly, looking down at himself as precum drips onto the bed. 

“Fuck,” John whispers and lifts up to kneel so he can cup his cock and keep from making a bigger mess. 

He looks up at Arthur through the mess his hair has become from all his shifting, having turned around, facing the older man. 

He feels suddenly on display and has to take a deep breath, biting down hard to hold his tongue. 

Arthur’s hands have moved, tucked under the older man’s sides and John’s hips rock, grinding back on his fingers. 

He holds his cock in a loose grip, moving his fingers to brush over the leaking slit and spreading the precum down to ease the movement. 

“Jesus,” Arthur whispers and John lifts his head to look at the older man more clearly. 

“Wh-What?” John asks shakily. 

“You’re just…” Arthur licks his lips, hesitates, “You…”

John shifts, spreading his legs a little wider. 

“What, Arthur?” John asks a little steadier. 

“You look good, like this,” Arthur whispers after a moment. 

“Yeah?” John asks breathily, preening a bit. 

It’s rare, to get a compliment from Arthur, and fuck does it feel good. 

He arches his back a bit, squeezing down the length of his cock until more precum is dribbling over his fingertips. 

Arthur looks down, then away quickly, back up to John’s face, swallowing hard. 

“You wanted to watch… The other night,” John inhales sharply as he starts to press in the tip of a third finger, “S’why you brought it up, right?”

Arthur breathes a little deeper but doesn’t answer verbally, eyes flicking quickly around John’s face. 

“Right?” John repeats, leaning over himself slightly, twisting to push his fingers further in. 

“... Yeah,” Arthur admits quietly, closing his eyes, “Shit, John.”

“Like it?”

“What? You?”

John huffs weakly. 

“Watchin’?” John asks pointedly, “Testin’ your control.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and nods, fingers flexing on the covers. 

“You been to a peep show?” 

Arthur makes a strangled sound and shifts, hips lifting up and John sees the outline of the older man’s hard-on briefly. 

“Wish they had some for fellas,” John murmurs, “On the performin’ side I mean.”

“God… You’d do that?”

John pulls his fingers out of himself and reaches back from the front, able to aim better, thrust harder until his hips are jerking and he’s fighting himself from whimpering, looking at Arthur with half-lidded eyes. 

“Bunch-a people gettin’ off,” John says shakily, “Watchin’ me?”

“Fuck,” Arthur says hoarsely, opening his eyes and looking down at John finger fucking himself. 

“Maybe have a fella-“ John’s voice breaks with a whine, the younger man curling in on himself, cupping the head of his cock, grinding against his palm, rocking back on his fingers. 

“Let him take you?” Arthur asks and John struggles to hold the older man’s gaze, “Front of all them people?”

“Wanna save that,” John says shakily as his legs tense, gut twisting, a shiver running up his spine, trying to keep himself just on that edge, slowly grinding his fingers deep inside himself. 

Arthur makes a low sound and his hips rock up again fingers gripping the covers tightly. 

“Shit,” John gasps, “Arthur.”

Rubbing his thumb firmly just behind his cockhead as he cries out softly, pulling his fingers out of himself and burying his face in his arm, letting his upper body drop to the mattress. 

The crown of his head is pressed to Arthur’s upper arm as he muffles his begging, voice small as he repeats Arthur’s name.

He barely gives himself time to catch his breath, wiping his come off on his thigh roughly then meeting Arthur’s eyes, moving his hand slowly, giving the older man time to react. 

Arthur watches with wide eyes, unmoving. 

John grips Arthur’s cock through the layers of fabric and squeezes, grinding the heel of his palm up the length. 

Arthur’s breathing quickens, coming out harsh and shallow.

“John,” Arthur whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“I-“ Arthur moves his hand to hold John’s wrist, pressing the younger’s palm down firmly, rocking his hips up lightly. 

John doesn’t fight it, just curls his fingers to shape around the thick of Arthur. 

The older man’s expression crinkles, eyes closing and hips jerking sharper. 

Arthur groans quietly, head pressing back into the pillow and John feels Arthur’s cock pulsing under his hand. 


End file.
